Eyes

Withered Mountain lay deep and still.

Sunlight filtered through the dense forest, cut into scattered shadows that carpeted the ground, bright yet cool.

Above the mountain steps, fallen leaves lay piled high, soft beneath one's feet.

In these rarely visited mountains, there lingered a peculiar, secluded charm.

Mo Hua stepped over the fallen leaves on the mountain stairs and returned to the Dilapidated Temple.

Inside, the Dilapidated Temple was as ruined as ever.

The roof still leaked rain, the four walls still let in the wind, and there was nothing on the altar—not even stale steamed buns. Only years-old rainwater had settled at the bottom of a bowl, murky and filthy.

Lord Yellow Mountain's clay statue wore a bitter expression.

When people were poor, life was hard.

When a Mountain God was poor, life was just as miserable.

The instant Mo Hua entered, Lord Yellow Mountain, shaped like drifting smoke, slowly floated out from the clay statue. He cupped his hands to Mo Hua and forced a smile onto his face.

"Hello, little friend..."

Mo Hua beamed as well and waved at him.

"Lord Mountain, long time no see. Did you miss me?"

Miss your big-headed ghost.

Not one bit...

When you didn't come, I finally had some peace and quiet.

Lord Yellow Mountain thought this, but the smile on his face grew even wider. Chuckling merrily, he said, "Naturally. I have not seen you for so long, little friend. I missed you greatly, greatly..."

Mo Hua nodded, very satisfied.

Lord Yellow Mountain silently sighed inside.

No wonder he had felt restless these past few days. This little plague god was coming again.

But there was nothing he could do. The temple was here, and he could not run away. He could only resign himself to fate.

Mo Hua swept